Life Of A Salesman
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: Songfic Oneshot. Dean remembers his dad, the way he used to be. The man that Dean wanted to be.


**A/N: My first songfic. I was listening to this, and I was like "Whoa!". It is a bit ironic at times, and I put it in here mostly for those reasons. **

**I kind of hate John. Because honestly, what kind of a father drags his kids into a business involving guns and monsters? It's highly not recommended in _Parenting _Magazine.**

**Disclaimer: Characters aren't mind. Song is Yellowcard's _Life of a Salesman_**

**Spoilers: To be safe, spoilers for everything. It's set after Shadow, but doesn't go into much about it.**

**Summary: Dean remembers his dad, the way he used to be. The man that Dean wanted to be.**

_What's a dad for, dad?  
Tell me why I'm here dad  
Whisper in my ear that I'm growing up to be a better man, dad  
Everything is fine dad  
Proud that you are mine dad  
Cause I know I'm growing up to be a better man_

Dean remembered. Sam always scoffed at him, saying he was too young, but Sam wouldn't know. Couldn't know. The best memories Dean had were of his father, before the fire. That was the real John Winchester.

He remembered the one time they went to the beach, right before Mary became pregnant with Sam. He doesn't remember much, but he remembers the smells. The salt, the sand, the sunscreen Mary gently rubbed onto Dean's smooth, three-and-a-half-year-old skin.

He remembers John. _Daddy. Daddy, I want to go to the water!_ He remembers screaming, frightened by the waves rolling threateningly towards him, and he remembers how John picked him up and held him tight until Dean wasn't scared anymore. Because that's what _Daddy_s do. They make their children feel better. Always.

_Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea  
_Dean remembers John teaching him how to play football, one warm April morning. He had taken the day off from work. _Just to hang out with my favorite boy._

_Who's your favorite boy, Daddy?_

_There's this kid named Dean, son. You know who he is?_

_Daddy, you're silly. I'm Dean. I'm your favorite boy!_

His small hands wouldn't fit around the large ball, so John held it for him, his own dark, tanned hands contrasting with the milk-smooth skin of his son.

Dean remembers. Maybe no one else does, but he does. And he wonders if his dad remembers, too.

_And watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you_

Dean always wanted to be like his dad. Before the fire. After-the-fire dad was surreal Dad. It was like a bad dream come true for a toddler and his infant brother.

After the fire, John became withdrawn. He would look at his sons. He wouldn't touch them. And it was at this time that the precocious four-year-old Dean realized that things would never be the same. The man towering over him was no longer the gentle, kind man who taught Dean how to celebrate a touchdown. No, he was a hunter. A killer. Bent on vengeance first, and his sons second. But somehow Dean knew that to their dad, they were still important. Because the two sons he had—they were all he had.

It was 'sir', never Daddy. Sam had known no other person than the man that ran their household as if he were the commander of a small army. But Dean remembered. He remembered.

_What's a dad for dad?  
Taught me how to stand, dad  
Took me by the hand and you showed me how to be a bigger man, dad  
Listen when you talk, dad  
Follow where you walk, dad  
And you know that I will always do the best I can  
I can_

Dean always followed Daddy's example.

When he was old enough to walk, he followed John around and around until he was so tired, he had to take a nap.

When John would talk to him, Dean would listen with ears wide open.

And then came the after-the-fire Dad, who told Dean that a silver bullet to the heart was the only way to kill a werewolf.

That was the Dad that taught Dean how to fire and reload, how to clean the .44, how to hustle pool and play poker, and how to treat women with respect.

That was the conflicted dad, the one with so many emotions hidden under a grizzled exterior.

The dad that Sam grew to loathe but still love, the dad that drove Dean's baby brother out of their life, and the dad that Dean knew bore no resemblance to the before-the-fire dad. That was how Dean kept going. By remembering. The way it used to be.

Dean knew, in his teenage years, that he would never be normal. That his dad would never fit in. That they would have to keep moving in order to avoid suspicion by the feds. The only resentment Dean harbored toward his father was the resentment of a child who had to know and see too much too soon. And Dean wished with all his heart that Sammy could have known the dad that Dean kept locked away in his memories.

Because then, maybe Sammy wouldn't have been so angry all the time. He would have known that John was just trying to get by. Dean used to tell Sam that they were lucky, because Dad could have dropped them off on a church doorstep and left them to foster care. But Dean knew that would never happen, because his sons were all John had left in the world. That reminded him of Mary. That reminded him of better times.

_That kept him alive._

No matter what, the man behind the hunter was still Dad. Dean needed John to be proud of him, even if his grades were low.

His dad never went to a single parent-teacher conference. While the kids in high school didn't want their parents to go, secretly Dean wished John would. So that he could see that Dean needed help. So that he would care about something other than Dean's aim. So that Dean could get the attention of his father away from the hunt.

_Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea  
And watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older I wanna be the same as you_

Dean lies awake at night with his brother sleeping in the next bed, wondering what keeps his father going. Is it his sons? Is it the lure of the hunt?

Dean doesn't even know his own father anymore. He disappears, then reappears about the fiftieth time that Dean called saying he was needed, that his _children _needed him. Sure, he showed up when he was needed the most, but Dean barely recognized the man they saw in Chicago. He looked more careworn, more worn down, than the Dad that Dean knew had tried the best he could to raise two sons.

Out of motel rooms and cheap apartments.

On Wonderbread and Oreos.

Out of a black Impala.

_Maybe I harbor a little more resentment towards him than I think,_ Dean's subconscious pricks at his thoughts.

Dean doesn't know what to think of his dad, but he still stands up for him. He refuses to listen to Sam's shit about him, because Sam will never know of the life they had before.

Sam won't know what it's like to call someone _Daddy_, and Dean feels regret and something like a broken heart when he thinks about it too much.

Sam won't know what it's like to go to the beach with the family and squish the burning sand beneath your toes, with your mother snapping pictures all along.

Most of all, Sam won't know what Dean feels every time he thinks of his father. Dean feels love, regret, pain, suffering, and a little bit of hate for the life they lived.

What keeps Dean going?

The memories. Of his father before. Of the father that Dean would be, if he was given the chance. And the life he would provide for his own children, in contrast to the life he lived with his father.

Dean loves his dad. But he loved his Daddy more.

_When I am a dad, dad  
I'm gonna be a good dad  
Do the best you could, dad  
Always understood, dad  
Taught me what was right, dad  
Opened up my eyes, dad  
Glad to call you my, dad  
Thank you for my life, dad_

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